


Believe

by verucasalt123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, Guilt, M/M, Spanking, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:37:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean breaks a very important promise to his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Believe

Heading back to the abandoned cabin they’d been squatting in for the past two nights, having finished up a fairly complicated hunt, Dean would ordinarily have been feeling triumphant, or at least relieved. Also, he normally would have been driving his own damn car. 

Today was not ordinary or normal. 

Sam was pissed. Jesus, Dean didn’t think he’d Sam this angry since…he didn’t even know. 

And when he tried to defend himself from the onslaught of his younger brother’s rage, he came up with nothing. Because there _was_ nothing. 

Yeah, words had been exchanged on many occasions about Dean’s drinking. Sam didn’t approve, he thought Dean drank too much, Dean knew it. His coping mechanism was a mixture of ignoring the nagging and getting sneakier about his ingestion of alcohol. 

But now…well, now he was busted and there was nothing to save him from what was coming his way. They’d both agreed years ago that physical punishments were acceptable when one or the other of them had crossed the line in a really bad way. For some reason, it seemed to help them both let go of tension and resentment whether they were the giver or the receiver of the punishment. And yeah, maybe that was crazy, but it worked for them, and after everything they’d been through, Dean knew that if it worked, if it helped them to stay focused, if it strengthened their bond, they were just going to go with it. Their relationship had been threatened and ripped to shreds more times than he cared to remember, and he never wanted that to happen again; he knew Sam didn’t either. 

Unfortunately, Dean wasn’t as good with avoiding the behaviors that caused such tension between them to start with. His recent binge-drinking obviously caused a good number of arguments, but he still didn’t stop. At first, it was anger and a desire to dull the intense pain he felt over all they’d lost in the past year that made him pick up a bottle. Over time, though, it was just fucking _maintenance_. He didn’t feel tipsy or silly or good when he drank, he just felt like he could function, put on a brave face and make it from one day to the next. 

With the bickering and excuses and escalating arguments over the booze issue, there was one thing he’d always promised Sam, and promised himself: he would be stone cold sober on a hunt, no exceptions. He swore he’d never go into that kind of situation compromised. But goddamnit, the ugly truth was that these days, a sober Dean was a liability. At least that’s what he’d told himself earlier that day. His hands shook when he hadn’t had a drink for a day or so, and he got distracted, had a hard time focusing because he was thinking about when he was going to be able to sneak in a few sips from his new flask (plastic, lightweight, easy to carry and conceal). 

So he’d made the decision that had led to him being ordered into the shotgun seat and feeling like the biggest asshole that ever lived. Before they left the cabin, he’d filled his flask and shoved it into in the inside pocket of his jacket. As they crept silently around the forest where they were hunting the werewolf, he took a little sip every time he was out of Sam’s line of sight. By the time they found the monster, it was half-empty and Dean’s hand had been rock-steady when he took his shot.

The shot went wide. At the sound, the werewolf turned and advanced on Dean with its unnatural quickness. The thing’s claws had been inches from Dean’s throat when Sam’s silver bullet pierced it from the side, clean through its chest, and it fell to the ground instantly. 

Sam, of course, had rushed to his brother’s side to make sure he was all right. Almost immediately, his look turned from worried to confused to disappointed before it landed on _rock-hard_. He’d smelled the bourbon on Dean’s breath. 

And oh, shit, shit, shit, fuck, he tried. Opened his mouth and closed it again about six times before he realized there wasn’t a single thing he could say to make this all right. Sam grabbed his jacket and reached around the pockets, pulling out the flask and staring at it, looking at Dean, back at the flask, down at the monster, up at the sky. It was a brief moment of respite when Sam’s eyes closed, because when he opened his eyes again, he threw the flask on the ground and backhanded Dean so hard he knew he’d have a bruise on his cheek. 

His voice shaking with anger, Sam simply said, “Give me the keys to the car.”

Still stunned from the slap, Dean handed over the keys immediately and followed his brother as he stalked angrily back to where they’d parked. Without another word, Sam got into the driver’s seat and steered them back toward the cabin. The silence was a definite indicator – if Sam was too pissed off to even yell at him, this was bad.

Of course it was bad. The whole fucking thing was bad. No one needed to say it. 

Walking back into the cabin, Sam will still fuming, the anger radiating from him was almost strong enough to be a physical presence in the tiny one-room structure. Once they got inside, Dean got a little reminder of a punishment that he’d endured as a kid. Sam told him to go to the other side of the room and stand at attention.

Then he left. Just walked out the door. 

Dean didn’t dare to move. He was a little shocked that Sam even remembered that their dad had made both of them do this countless times when they were kids. It sucked, _bad_. If you had to stand in a corner, you might be able to get away with resting your head against a wall or shifting your weight from one leg to the other. This…there was no chance of respite from the discomfort of having to hold yourself board-straight, eyes front, for however long was required. Even with Sam outside (probably trying to cool down or collect his thoughts or some shit), there was no way Dean was going to move an inch. He knew he was already in deep shit and he wasn’t about to make it worse.

About twenty minutes later, while Dean was starting to actually sweat from the exertion of the position, Sam finally came back inside.

And oh fuck no, he had retrieved the wooden paddle from the trunk of the Impala and brought it in with him. 

Dean remained silent and still as he waited for Sam to start talking. He knew there was some serious shit coming his way, but he was reminded then of why they’d agreed on this kind of thing to begin with. Sam was going to blister his ass, no doubt about it, and it was going to hurt like a bitch. But then it was going to be over. Neither of them were going to be holding a silent grudge, this incident wouldn’t be some elephant in the room that forced them apart, they were going to deal with it in a very _real_ way and no matter what, some shit was going to get resolved right now. 

Finally, Sam broke the silence.

“Dean, I don’t think I have to tell you how fucking angry I am right now. You promised me, man, you fucking _promised_ -”

“I know, I know I did and I’m so-”

“ **I did not ask you to speak** ” Sam roared, his voice almost rattling the windows. 

Shit. Okay, then. Dean shut up, his eyes wide and already feeling the sting of impending tears.

“You broke your promise. You almost got fucking killed because of it.” Sam paused just a moment before he pulled out the lowest blow that existed. “You could have gotten _me_ killed, too.”

Dean had no control over his eyes dropping to the floor at that moment, he was so ashamed. But they came right back up at Sam’s next words.

“I don’t remember _eyes looking at your feet_ being part of standing at attention, Dean.”

He forced himself to meet his brother’s glare. “I can’t fucking believe you did this. And the worst thing is that when I think about it, I really shouldn’t be so shocked. We talked about this a hundred times, and you always blew me off, I should have known you’d eventually take it this far. I don’t think we really need to have a long conversation about this bullshit. Just drop your pants and hold onto your knees. I’m going to wear your ass out with this paddle and you’re gonna be still and fucking take it.”

Without hesitation, Dean turned around and did as he was told, carefully moving his junk out of the line of fire. He felt Sam getting close behind him, then felt his left hand resting low on his back, ready to hold him in position if necessary. 

“Tell me again, Dean. Tell me what you promised about drinking when we’re on a hunt.”

There was something horribly unbalancing about being interrogated with your bare ass stuck out into the air, but Dean tried to get himself together. “I promised you I’d never drink when we were on a hunt.”

Almost before he’d finished speaking, the paddle landed on his ass, **hard** , three times in a row. “So that was kind of a rule, right? One you made yourself. No drinking if we’re hunting.”

Catching his breath, Dean responded, “Yeah, yes, it was a rule.”

The paddle crashed down again, four, five, six more times. “What was the rule? Say it.”

“No drinking if we’re hunting”, Dean managed to get out, just barely.

“I’m wondering now why it’s only easy for you to remember the rules when you’re bent over to get your ass beat. But hey, if that’s what it takes, I’m happy to give you the reminder.”

Dean had no idea how he was able to be still over the next few minutes as Sam smacked him over and over again with that wicked fucking paddle. A few times he wobbled a little bit, but Sam’s hand at his back held him steady. By the time Sam finished with his ass and started in on his thighs, Dean had passed shedding tears and was openly sobbing, but he still contained his urge to ask his brother to stop. 

Truthfully, he knew he deserved every second of this punishment, and he’d disappointed Sam enough for one night. Finishing up with five swats to the spot where his thighs met his ass that were hard enough to knock him over if he wasn’t being held in place, Sam finally dropped the paddle onto the floor. 

Still, Dean didn’t move. He stayed right there, hands on his knees, bent over, ass battered and bruised, tears and snot covering his face and dripping down onto the floor. 

And Sam left him there. Just like that. Only for a minute, though. 

That minute felt like fucking eternity. Until he felt his brother easing him up, an arm around his chest until he was standing again. 

“Go take a shower, Dean. Get ready for bed.” They’d lucked out finding a place that still had running water.

‘Bed’, of course, referring to the sleeping bags they had laid out on the floor. 

When he came out of the bathroom, he saw that Sam was already in his sleeping bag, and the godforsaken paddle was nowhere in sight. 

Slipping into his own sleeping bag, gingerly turning over onto his stomach, he moved his head to face his brother. 

“Sam, I’m sorry. Please, you have to believe me, I’ll never do it again. And I’m going to stop drinking so much. I swear, I know it won’t be easy and it won’t happen overnight, but I’m going to try.”

After a few minutes, he finally got his response. But it wasn’t what he was hoping for. “Dean, what happened tonight is done, we took care of it. But I can’t tell you that I believe you. You’ve lied to me too many times about this.”

Okay, that was fair. “I know. I’ll show you, though. I won’t expect you to just take my word for it right now. I’ll prove it to you. Whatever it takes.”

“I guess that’s a place to start” was the only response Dean got before Sam turned away. 

Better than nothing, Dean thought. A place to start. He could work with that.


End file.
